


as there are flowers and you and song

by lovingness



Series: haikyuu!! one shots [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gardens & Gardening, Homoromantic Azalea Bush Trimming, M/M, POV Ushijima Wakatoshi, Pining Sakusa Kiyoomi, Pining Ushijima Wakatoshi, a kind unnamed family exists, but to a lesser degree because, much discussion about the wordless parts of their relationship, slight chapter 394 spoilers, the author begs the audience to watch only yesterday, very slight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:48:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24726259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovingness/pseuds/lovingness
Summary: So, maybe nothing has really changed in six springs of planting and trimming and lifting and growing.But, Ushijima grips his hedge trimmers and raises back up from his bent-over position with a stifled groan, making eye contact with Sakusa. A humid pause, and then Sakusa’s wide eyes soften, at what Ushijima doesn’t know.Though, he can guess.
Relationships: Sakusa Kiyoomi/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Series: haikyuu!! one shots [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1782424
Comments: 22
Kudos: 74





	as there are flowers and you and song

**Author's Note:**

> "Beauty that may not die as long  
> as there are flowers and you and song."
> 
> \- Edna St. Vincent Millay.

Ushijima adjusts his knelt posture, taking the pressure off of his right knee and onto his left, as his hunched back complains loudly at the sudden stretch. Sakusa silently hands him the ever-filling wicker basket of trimmings from the azalea bush they’ve been working at for half an hour and Ushijima nods, thankful, as he drops handfuls of small branches and dead buds into it.

A small radio on Kiyoomi’s side of the bush croons something almost tropical-sounding, sweet, and calming. It’s the same peach-pink radio that’s sat between them for the past six springs they’ve spent on this farm with a family they both know, and it’s only a coincidence that their respective moves into professional volleyball still give them breaks at this part of the year. Ushijima’s not even sure how they both got roped into working together in the first place, but no one complains about the help of two strong, young men. (He wonders why they’re not doing the heavy lifting, like usual, and have instead been relegated to bush-trimming duty, but he likes the sweet, almost tart smell of the azaleas and the comfortable silence he and Sakusa can fall into and have fallen into every single spring.)

The first spring, it had been a surprise for both of them, then boys barely out of middle school, to see each other again in such a place. It had been right after the All-Japan middle school tournament, Sakusa’s loss to Ushijima, and the revelation that there was someone Sakusa could compete with when they met again on the farm. They had spent a lot of that first break together pushing divots into the ground with the toes of their shoes and dropping two, three small seeds into them before brushing the earth back over the hole and tamping it down. It was tedious and mind-numbing, Ushijima secretly thought at first, but the mundane became relaxing each day the boys spent together. Neither of them was talkative or have ever been so, and, of course, they were still competitors and are now. So, maybe nothing has really changed in six springs of planting and trimming and lifting and growing. 

But, Ushijima grips his hedge trimmers and raises back up from his bent-over position with a stifled groan, making eye contact with Sakusa. A humid pause, and then Sakusa’s wide eyes soften, at what Ushijima doesn’t know.

Though, he can guess.

He wonders if it’s his weary, contented face and the way he knows his pupils dilated just a touch at Sakusa entering his vision. And, how he knows only Sakusa would notice the way someone’s eyes dilate.

He wonders if it’s the way he’s holding his trimmers, firmly but with a sort of carefulness that’s come with years of handling them. Also, the fact that the rubber handles have worn down and exposed metal edges in some places that even his gloves can’t keep from biting into his palms and fingers.

He wonders if it’s the sweat sticking his shirt to his chest and the knowledge they both hold that they’ll strip out of these clothes in a few more hours, play rock-paper-scissors to decide who bathes first, and then disregard the results because Ushijima always lets Sakusa go first. It’s the ritual-ness of it all, something they’ve done for years when they’re on this break or at training camps together. 

(Sakusa, staring at Ushijima, is remembering all of these things, too. And more.)

Ushijima swallows, looks back down at the bush, back at Sakusa who hasn’t stopped watching him this whole time. Rarely, if ever, does their time on the farm lead to conversation.  Today is no different; today is not the day for words.

So, Ushijima takes his trimmers and clips a single azalea bud from the bush. He offers it to Sakusa, who hesitates, considering, before he pulls off one of his gardener’s gloves and sets it in his lap. With his now-vulnerable hand, he takes the bud and gingerly places it behind his right ear, the petals opening up to the edges of his flushed cheek. Then, eyes flitting back to Ushijima for the briefest of moments, he replaces his glove and continues working.

It would seem as though nothing has changed.

But, Ushijima knows, theirs is a relationship not founded on grand gestures. It’s always been a give and take between them of the small gestures, the seemingly ordinary things that to them are precious. It’s a hanky folded with the damp side in, the spin of a volleyball and a receive that goes awry, the mingling smells of a blooming azalea bush and sweat and, not too far over the hill, a hot meal prepared with more love than one can hold in their hands.

A flower from one tucked behind the ear of the other.

He watches Sakusa work for a few moments and then picks his own trimmers back up. Ushijima knows, of course, that something new is between them. Bending over again, though, less tension in his back than before, he doesn’t think anything already there has to change.

There’s no need to change the way they sometimes wordlessly list towards each other in the bed they share on the farm, no matter how hot it might get, because even in sleep their hands are always outstretched, searching, for the other. And upon waking, no words shared about it because both are convinced that acknowledgment of the need to be near each other even in rest would ruin everything about it.

There’s no need to change the shared smirks they direct towards each other at training camps when one’s spike could’ve been better received by the other, the satisfaction or frustration evident in each other but never maliciously. Always teasing, you might say, always inviting is the way Sakusa spikes for Ushijima. The way Ushijima’s hand meets the ball. Teasing.

There’s no need to change the way they’ve both come to appreciate the other’s taste in music, Sakusa buying second-hand cassettes of 80s Japanese pop music, and Ushijima always taking a cassette or two or three full of Ralph Vaughn Williams and Morten Lauridsen pieces from his dad’s attic in California when he visits. The wordless way they share the radio as they trim bushes and plant together even though neither of them has ever complained about what the other plays. Not once.

What Ushijima and Sakusa realize at the same moment is this: everything about them can continue just as it is. The small, almost invisible measures of love they share do not need to change. And, maybe, when they both eventually retire and the family who’s been graciously hosting them all these years finds the farm too much work for their weathered hands, the two of them could move out here and find some solace together. (Okay, that last part might be a stretch, but Ushijima can dream of waking up beside Sakusa every day and making him coffee at the crack of dawn if he wants to. Especially in a place like this.)

Ushijima tenderly holds a small, withered branch between his gloved fingers and trims it close to the center of the bush. He tosses it into the basket, still on his side, and then, wordlessly, passes it back to Sakusa, whose hands are already waiting for it. Always waiting.

Fingertips brush fingertips, their touch feather-light, and barely there. 

To Ushijima, it is like millions of flowers have bloomed in his chest, with  _ Sakusa Kiyoomi  _ written all over them. Each and every one.

**Author's Note:**

> some notes!  
> \- first time writing ushisaku please be kind  
> \- watch only yesterday!! this work is not an AU based directly off of that movie but it is HEAVILY inspired by it.  
> \- the song playing from the radio at the beginning is not necessarily anything specific but if you'd like to know what i was listening to it is cocorononaca by radwimps! it's short and cute and fun go listen!!
> 
> thank you, as always, for reading!! you can find me on twitter @ushikariare for more of my writing and comments and kudos are always appreciated!! love you :D


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